


The Cat

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cat who becomes a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdwegian (llamainvasion)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nerdwegian+%28llamainvasion%29), [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



> currently unbeta'd

Once upon a time there was a cat who lived very high up in the foot hills. Not the mountains mind you, but their lower kin. He lived close enough to occasionally hear a passing metal beast on the winding bands of rock poured flat and black onto the edges of the forest. The cat rarely stopped to watch the metal beasts, content to sit on his ledge over looking the lakes and rivers below. That was until the day the man first came.

There were occasionally men and women who came to his rock outcrops. They would wear firm shoes and heavy packs and walk up through the forests. They were always noisey and if they ever saw him they would stand on the tips of their toes and wave their arms about roaring loudly. The cat is never scared by their antics, only secretly amused, but it is clear enough they are frightened of him, despite their noise. And so he flicks his tail in irritation and chooses paths farthest from their tramped down trail.

The man doesn't follow the tramped down trail in the wake of the footsteps of all of his kind who have come before him. Instead, he sets his feet into the steep hillside and clambers his way up. His pack is heavy and his boots are tough and he whistles to himself as he goes, making more noise than any of the others the cat has ever seen.

And so the cat watches the man scramble by the old boulders of past rock falls and over the fern covered logs of fallen trees, keeping far away enough to not be spotted, but close enough to hear the off key music the man sings as he goes. Unlike the men and women with belled sticks and tinny voices ringing over his slopes, the songs seem unforced.

Sometimes he stumbles as he goes, the natural consequence of the man climbing his way higher off the trail. The cat sometimes worries for him but the man seems more concerned with the safety of his pack than with his own hands and knees. He makes no complaint as he draws nearer to the sharp rocks where the tree line thins to alpine shrub. The cat is almost afraid the man will attempt to climb up the rock faces, but he doesn't go far. At the first steep over hang he pauses, removing shining metal equipment from his pack and carefully setting it into the hillside. The cat has seen climbers before, but they tend to stay on the more trafficked routes marked on the far side of his foothill. However the man does not begin to climb, instead more equipment emerges from his pack.

As the cat watches the man carefully and lovingly assembles a more impressive version of the little sliver box with the flash that hikers sometimes point in his direction, if he's far enough away for them not to be screaming and waving. With intense precision the man sets up the box against the cliff side adjusting it too and fro and securing it with more metal until it fairly shines like a beacon in the afternoon sunshine. He continues whistling as he works, the sound bouncing off the cliff face and echoing to the cats ears, cheerful and sunny.  The arrangeds brush and fallen branches gathered from the tree line, gathering brush and fallen branches around the box with the same exceeding care, before jumping back down from the cliff side with less caution then the cat is comfortable with. With the drapes of branches and brush around the metal box it no longer gleams, but blends. After careful consideration of his work the man pulls out another device from his pocket, and upon consulting it jots a few notes on a pad of paper before packing the remaining gear and equipment back into his pack and scrambling his way back down.

The cat watches him go, sad momentarily for the end of his distraction. He considers following the man, his ungainly hoping down through the trees leaves crackling and deep footprints in his wake. Instead the cat turns to the box. The box doesn't move or make loud noise so the cat edges closer. It's round glass eye stares blankly back at him and it makes a quiet "click". He doesn't flinch away, but instead listens as the box whirs softly and then clicks again. Satisfied that whatever the man has added to his cliff face will not cause any harm, the cat wanders back to his lookout. Below him the river snakes it's slow way down and the ribbon of smooth man-laid rock echoes its winding form. The day is still warm and long and he closes his eyes and basks in the sunshine.

The man must come up the mountain when the cat is out hunting, because the next time he sees the man it's almost a surprise. For once the man is silent but the gleeful smile on his face speaks louder than any belted melody could. The cat watches as he presses buttons on the box and practically twitches with joy. His fingers move quickly, reassembling the parts of the box and placing it back into it's hiding. This time the cat follows him as he tramps back down the mountain. He takes a more circuitous route than the first time he plowed his way up, stopping at other hidden boxes at seemingly random dispersals along the way. He does the same process of checking them over and exchanging their parts. The cat is impressed, some of these boxes he might not have even noticed. The man isn't nearly as excited at any of the other boxes, but his pleased smile remains fixed on his face. He says "a cougar!" with such infectious excitement that the cat finds himself creeping closer.

The man gives a self-congratulatory fist pump of joy and with all of his small parts and metal pieces tucked away in his pack, he joins up with the well-trampled human path resuming his faster, skipping pace. For once the cat stays close to the path, but eventually they're too close to the graveled place the men and women who come to walk up his foothill park their metal beasts. With a twitch of irritation for their rumbling sounds and noxious smells the cat heads back up the hill, staying to his own, more comfortable, routes.

Having discovered the hiding places of all the boxes, the cat pays them careful visit. He sits in front of one for hours, the sun shifting slowly over head while he watches t click and whirr. It remains still and the glass eye blank. Eventually even the click and whirr and the lingering scent of the man is not enough to keep the cat from being bored. He shrugs to his feet and wanders past the next few without bothering to pause and examine them as well.

When the man returns the following week his ecstatic shouts can be heard miles up the hillside. The cat doesn't bother to come running. With greater dignity he strolls amiably downward, looping in over the mans position to approach him from the leeward side, out of the wind lest the man catch his scent.

The man continues not to notice him, but that is perhaps because he is transfixed by the box in front of which the cat had waited. It had done nothing special and the cat still cannot decide why the man finds it so fascinating. Something with the buttons and the little square bits inside. Once again, the cat waits for the man to leave, but this time he barely waits for the man to move beyond the edges of his hearing. When he pauses in front of the box it clicks and whirs as per usual, he then circles round behind it. There's no way to access the buttons from the way it's set against its hiding tree. After a few moments of careful consideration the cat cautiously reaches out one paw. The box does not react to his tapping, and so he bats it harder. For a few moments the cat is almost sure it wont budge, but then it rolls slowly forward thumping out into the moss at the base of the tree. The cat stares at the back of the box, the buttons and strange designs.

He wasn't close enough to see what the man had done, but presses against the colorful designs anyways. The back of the box blinks into a colorful light, a square panel sparkling like sunlight off the lakes below his cliff. After a moment the cat recognizes himself. It is a reflection he's seen in those lakes on occasion, blurred on the windy days by the rippling movement of the water. Somehow the box captures him. The cat sits back to think. The other humans, with their small boxes and hushed whispers, did they take his face home with them as well? It is a disturbing thought, but he finds he does not mind that the man is taking him home.  The man is the most excited about the images after all, and his happy excitement is something the cat cannot begrudge. Carefully he tips the box back over. There's no way he can manage to hide it again, so instead he carefully rubs his cheek over it's shiny metal case, hearing the frantic click and whir of the eye inside, capturing the side of his neck and the yellow flare of his eye. The box is marked to him now and none of the other animals should bother it. Satisfied the cat wanders back up the hill to wait for the man's return.

The cat finds that the days are long without the distraction of following around his new human. The other humans come and go, their small or large groups uninteresting. He follows a group of young humans one day, they pack of them in bright colors with floppy hats and sloshing bottles of water. It's something to do, but the older humans that guard them become noticably disturbed when they spot him trailing them down the hillside and hurry their charges forward at an almost run. The cat doesn't give chase, the fear-scent is too powerful, wrinkling his nose with distaste. The man comes the day after the children and the cat follows him more closely than ever. He slips like a shadow, echoing from one tree to another with the sound of the man's voice. The cat cannot think of a way to make the man stay. He checks all of his boxes, packing two of them back into his pack altogether. And somehow, even though the cat is haunting his footsteps the man seems not to notice. Once the man glances slightly to his left, in the direction the cat is crouching but the sun glints off his glasses and the look is only the barest flicker of attention, possibly snagged by the bright red flash of woodpecker high above the cats' head. The man continues on and the cat follows, straying ever closer to the gravel pit for metal beasts.

At the edge of the shade line, crouched low, the cat watches the man step up into the gaping side of the metal beast, slamming it's wing closed before it roars and trundles backwards in a spray of gravel. Before he leaves the cat can hear the loud beat of music almost obscuring the man's full-throated voice calling through the open space high up on the metal beasts side.

The cat finds himself annoyed that the man has left, forced to amble all the way back up the hillside by himself. He gets close enough to growl at some hikers because they aren't the man, one of them screams and flails hard enough to fall down. They run from him like frightened deer, only with less grace. It's not enough of a diversion. The cat worries what the man will do if he sees him. The man captures his image with joy but would he scream and flail like all the others? Somehow the thought makes the cat feel chilled, like the days when frost melts under his paws. The cat returns to his sunwarmed rock and doesn't think about what the man might do or say if he came. 

The days pass, and the air grows colder. The cat waits for the man but the sky grows darker and crackles with light and rumbling that far drowns out the sound a metal beast would make, even though he listens. He doesn't hear the metal beasts, even though he's moved far enough down the hillside that he would if they came. Instead the sky is loud and the ground and his fur turn wet. When the dark of the sky fades to the dark of night, the cat shakes himself irritably and finds the cave he normally would have sequestered himself in hours ago. Grumbling the cat goes to sleep.

The cat rarely dreams. Sometimes he sleeps in memories of sunwarmed rocks, or of the cool water of the lake against his paws, he dreams the shapes of small creatures fleeing before him and fir in his teeth, small bones. He doesn't dream in the metal beasts of men or their winding flat river-roads or their sturdy boots. But the night the man doesn't come, his eyes close missing the whir and click of his cameras and his smile at each new image he sees. The cat dreams of his own long pair of legs, and dexterous hands to press buttons and open packs, his own fur restricted to the human patterning, though longer on his head than the man's for his fur is, of course, much better.

He dreams of these things, of speaking to the man and holding out his hand to say "I am Cougar." because that is what the man called him.

Outside the lighting crackles and the sky rumbles and the cat twitches in his sleep, forepaws reaching out as grasping fingers till the thunder shakes the mountain so loudly every living thing, even those once asleep are startled quiet.

The cat opens his eyes with one hand still reached out. The air smells strange, charged with ozone, and the sharpness of a storm still crackling along his skin but the world is strangely silent.

He sits up slowly, awkward and uncomfortable as the sensation of sharp rocks press against him from below. As his waking mind slowly focuses beyond the deep and sudden darkness, he realizes it's not just an unnatural black. He honestly can't see his own hand in front of his face. His fingers drift up in reaction to the unusual lack of vision. Slowly, ever so slowly he feels out the flat, smooth planes of cheeks, the soft scritch of fur along his chin and the equally bare stretch of his forehead with the long curling tangle above that. With wonder his hands find the slope of his nose and press sparkles against the round curve of his eyes.

The cat wonders if he is still dreaming, but the smells of pine and water, though they are removed to a fainter version than he remembers, still hang about him in the air. The musk of the cave smells like his fur, smells like shelter from the storm. He shivers, cold and aware suddenly of how exposed this hairless body is. His teeth jangle together and he crawls back further into the cave, out of the faint breeze and chill night air. Somehow despite the prickling hairs on his arms, thin and such a paltry defense against the cold he manages a fitful sleep.

He wakes with the sunrise light filtering in past the opening of the cave and rousing his senses. In his other form he would be out hunting the first morning creatures catching them sleepy and soft from just outside their dens. Or perhaps his jaws would close around the last of the tardy night creatures sneaking home at the last slivers of darkness hoping to outwit him and bring back just that bit more food. They are of course, always the fattest. His stomach is rumbling just as insistantly as it always would but now his legs are slow and clumsy when his feet balk at twigs and sharp little briars. His paws never had such trouble. 

He tries running on all fours, searching for the graceful movement of his other form but it only ends in rolling and more bruises on his shoulders and sides. He walks upright, like the man, like the hikers in their sturdy boots. He wishes for his own tramped down path but theirs is so far away. He begins his way gingerly towards it, maybe he can wait in the gravel pit for metal beasts and someone who is equally hairless and human will find him and tell him what has happened. The cat supposes this is perhaps how all humans come to be. Though that must be hard for the youngest of them. How none of them remember being like him he cannot understand, why would they scream then? Or maybe he is just special. The cat snorts in disgust because his feet hurt and he has never before felt that his reproductive organs were trying to crawl inside his body. He doesn't feel special.

The going is slow and by the time he's halfway to the tramped down trail the sun is high in the sky. He's near one of the man's boxes now. Curious the cat decides to take a detour. He has the proper fingers now, he could press the buttons more purposefully, perhaps determine the true workings of the boxHe walks the rest of the way with a more hurried step. Settling himself in the moss, gentle enough on his extremities, and picks up the box.It whirs and clicks at his face and he turns it over curiously. The button on the back shows a human staring back, where it previously would have shown a cat. A Cougar. Cougar smiles at his frowning face. His chin has some scraggly fur, his head has much more of it, almost down to the exposed slope of his shoulders. The thin bone curving under his neck would never support the kind of muscle and power his forepaws would need to eat up the ground chasing deer. Such fragile human bodies, he muses.

In the light of day, with the clarity of the box's eye he examines himself, the way twigs and branches have already tangled themselves into his hair from when he tried to run on all fours, the long streaks of mud and green plant matter along his side from rolling when that failed. There are cuts and scrapes along his legs from branches and brambles and his feet are dotted in dark blood. His hands are still mostly clean and his face looks like the faces of the hikers, not much dirtier. He envies them their sturdy shoes and crinkly cloth over their legs, the wide brimmed hats that shade their faces and keep their noses from turning pink. Cougar feels his own nose, but it's still the same color as the rest of him.

He is so intent in his examinations that he doesn't hear the man. In his other form he would have known the man from yards and yards away, could have caught his scent on the breeze and known just where to follow unnoticed, but now the man takes him by surprise.

Or perhaps the surprise is mutual because the man yells, "What the fuck!" upon spotting Cougar.

Cougar jumps and almost drops the box. He stands guiltily and eyes the man cautiously. The man doesn't flail his arms and after his first loud prounouncement he doesn't scream just stares cautiously, wide eyed.

"Hey, buddy, are you alright?" he asks.

"I am Cougar." Cougar replies.

 "Oh, okay, I'm Jensen, but like, you look kind of rough there. How about we get you too a hospital? I mean there was a massive storm last night and if you were out here like that... Yeah, okay you know what, you're coming with me."

Cougar nods and carefully places the box back on the ground. The man seems to have totally forgotten it. Cougar is greatful to follow in the mans foosteps where twigs and brambles crushed under his sturdy shoes as they make their way towards the path and down the hill. 

Cougar is greatful for the tramped earth under his feet. Even still, there are small stones and tree roots that grate against his skin, but he doesn’t wince with each step as he had making his way over the hillside. 

They reach the gravel pit of metal beasts and it is the worst against his feet of anything he has yet to tread upon. Against his will a harsh whine takes up in his throat and he glares balefully at the man. He’s already exhausted from the lack of food and his throat feels raspy  and dry.  The man is already striding towards his metal beast, off across the trecherous ground. At least with this nose he cannot smell the lingering noxious fumes the beasts expell and the morning is quiet but for birdsong. Cougar squares his shoulders and picks his way carefully over the broken, sharp stones. He’s only halfway to the vehicle, concentrating on watching the placement of his feet, when the man is suddenly beside him. 

“Hey, you know what, I think this’d be easier.” He says, and without further warning scoops Cougar up into his arms quickly crossing the last few yards to the metal beast and depositing Cougar into it’s interior. The wing closes with a slam leaving Cougar temporarily alone inside with the smell of leather heated in the sunshine. The interior is soft unlike the harshness of the gravel and Cougar wriggles back against it, drawing his legs up to circle them with has arms, forming a tight ball against the lingering cold still prickling his skin. The shivers are back, chattering his teeth and making his hands feel icy in the sudden heat. The man slides into the seat next to him and drapes a green and faintly scratchy cloth about Cougar’s shoulders. It’s warm and smells musty, unused and yet faintly of the man and the interior of the metal beast like it’s been in the metal beast for quite a while.

“Good thing I have an emergency blanket.” The man smiles, wrapping his hands around the curving protrusion from the metal beast. His fingers do something that makes the beast purr  under his hand. Cougar can understand the impulse. The man, _Jensen,_ Cougar thinks, _he is called Jensen, he is not just a man,_ leads the beast with a spray of gravel away from the pit and out onto the winding rock-river of road.

Cougar watches as the trees of his foothills blurr dream like as they wind down away from his home. It seems as if between one blink and the next the trees give way to rolling feilds and eventually to the squat rooved shelters the humans construct. They are traveling so very, very fast. Cougar fights a yawn, drained from the strange morning and lulled by the strange rumbling motion of the metal beast that carries him at a wind-like pace down to where the land is stranger and stranger. Cougar finds he misses the green wash of trees beyond his window and shifts to watch Jensen instead. Their eyes meet and Jensen glances away, back at the road in front of him.

"You know, you seem really familiar." Jensen says, eyeing Cougar without turning his face back to him. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"You make images." Cougar replies. It's frustrating. He understands words and their meanings but somehow they tangle in his head, foriegn on his tongue and nothing shapes the way it should. His voice comes out with a light accent, different in cadence and in sound from the rapid sure way Jensen speaks.

"Oh, are you another nature photographer? I thought I was the only one working this area, who are you working for, or are you freelance? I mostly freelance but I'm working on an issue for Nat.Geo right now. They're doing one on Mountain Lions, man I have had the _best_ luck. I know they call this Puma Mountain but apparently they're generally really elusive but there's this one Cougar...hey you're named Cougar. You know you remind me of him a little, silent but you totally know what's going on. It's in the eyes." Cougar nods because it’s true. It makes him happy that Jensen can recognize him by his silences, but something in the way Jensen continues talking about how awesome the pictures he's gotten so far are makes Cougar think that Jensen doesn't know and while he preens inwardly under the praise for his other form he finds his heart growing heavier with each moment Jensen doesn't truly know who he is.

"You have an interesting accent" Jensen observes. "Where're you from, originally?"

"I grew up here." Cougar replies, gesturing with his eyes back towards the foothills they've left behind.

"Oh, neat." Jensen agrees, "Is English not your first language then? You speak English though." Jensen continues. Cougar offers a half shrug and slight nod. Whatever language he first spoke it isn't the way Jensen speaks now, but the more Jensen speaks the more the words fall into place in Cougar's head. If he didn't speak English previously, he imagines he will very soon.

It seems only a surprisingly short time later that the metal beast is pulling to a stop in front of a very tall human dwelling. Cougar stares up at it's breadth and the systematic placement of square transparent places where light and the occasional moving figure can be seen.

"Come on, let's get you checked over. Make sure there's no permanent damage from you night in the woods. They'll know who to call about missing hikers and all that too." Jensen says, "It isn't ideal, but at least we'll know that you're for sure alright." Cougar follows Jensen out of the car and through the doors that slide open silently at his approach. They pass under the large red sign with it's white lettering and symbol and into the white walled corridor that ends with a woman directing them to sit and wait with the other humans in a high-ceilinged atrium. 

"I''m going to check you in. Cougar, what's your last name?" Cougar stares blankly at Jensen.

"Cougar." Cougar says, "I am am called Cougar." Jensen nods slowly, then shrugs, clearly unwilling to make a big deal out of it. Cougar isn’t particularly fond of the room. He carefully ignores the woman wincing with her foot levitated on the chair next to her and a cluster of other humans Cougar thinks might be her family around her.  Though besides her, the room is mostly empty. 

As Cougar takes in the space Jensen marches forward and converses with a woman behind a desk. She eyes him over Jensen's shoulder and nods. Once Jensen returns to his side, Cougar follows Jensen to one of the floral printed chairs with their hard wood arms and firm backs. If Cougar was in his other form he would have stretched out on the floor. If Cougar were in his other form he wouldn't be in this strange, stiff room at all. Cougar perches on the arm of the chair, he just can't convince himself to sit. Jensen sprawls in the chair next to him, long legs flopping out onto the tiled floor with the squeak of his shoes. Cougar is still simply wrapped in the green wool blanket, its fibers prickling his shoulders. His bare toes dig into the cushioned seat.

"So they're going to have the doctors look you over, and she thinks she has some extra scrubs you can wear. Don't want to frighten everyone else if your blanket slips. I told her your name is Cougar, no last name, which is slightly better than John Doe I guess. You're obviously not an immediate emergency so we might be here a little while, but she said it wasn't too busy so I bet we'll be in as soon as they get called in." Jensen tilts his head toward the woman with the foot. Cougar doesn't glance back at her, but inclines his head in acquiesence. She is obviously in more pain than he is. Cougar pulls his blanket more firmly around himself and settles in to wait.

There's a brightly colored square of moving images and more scrolling symbols on the far wall, Cougar eyes it curiously. The symbols are starting to make sense, cohering in his mind like the words slotted into place. There were symbols like that on the wooden posts a the base of the human path at his foothill. There were symbols on the building, clear large signs and arrows directing their entry. The symbols on the moving screen seem to follow the patter of voices, sounding faint from somewhere overhead and matching the movement of the people in the box. Cougar listens to the words talk about New York's most famous pizza restaurant and reads the symbols that say the same thing. It's rather redundant, Cougar thinks, to have the symbols say the same thing as the voices. But as Cougar looks around the room with this new knowledge, he can read signs that don't say the same things as the voices. By the desk there is a small post, almost like the ones at the foot of his hillside, saying "please wait behind this point" and the big red letters on the wall read "Emergency".

Jensen is right, a short time after the huddle of people on the far side the room are lead back, a woman dressed in pale blue holding a clipboard motions them to follow her through the faint whir of more magically opening doors. She leads them to a room with two chairs and a raised flat surface covered in a crinkly sheet which she pats.

"You can put on the scrubs on the bed, I'll draw the curtain for privacy. The doctor should be with you in a minute. Mr. Jensen has already given me what he knows of your information, but if you think of anything else, be sure to mention." She gives him a pointed look and draws the curtain around the bed, leaving Cougar in the enclosed space. He lets the blanket slip from his shoulders and hurries into the pants and shirt she indicated. They hang loosely, exposing his chest and draping off his hips, but they provide more appropriate cover than just the blanket would. He picks the blanket up again and wraps it back around his shoulders, though less tightly. Carefully drawing the curtain aside he finds Jensen studiously flipping through a thick-paged book with a bear on the cover. It has large-print colorful letters and appears to be about the nature of the forrest counting things.

"One little tent." Cougar reads, with the picture of the temporary dwellings the humans use beneath it. Jensen puts down the book.

"Those don't really fit you do they?" He asks with a wrinkle of his nose. "We'll have to buy you some clothes. I think mine might be a little big, though not that bad!" Cougar nods noncomittally. He can vaguely remember his strong awareness of the man's smell in his other form. This form only smells the sterile room, the clean-washed smell of the scrubs. The faint Jensen-scent of the blanket is almost covered over. Cougar finds he wouldn't mind borrowing Jensen's clothes.

"Yes. I'd like that. Not too big." Cougar says and Jensen cocks his head for a moment then says,

"Yeah, going out shopping might be a bit much today." The door to their room swings open then, a short man with thinning brown hair pokes his head in. He wears a crisp white coat and smiles as he says, "You must be Cougar" as he catches Cougar's eye. Cougar doesn't drop his gaze, instead holding the doctor's firmly as he inclines his head in a slight nod. The doctor returns the gesture and shifts to Jensen.

"You're Mr. Jake Jensen. It says that you found him on Puma Mountain?" Jensen nods.

"I'm a nature photographer, I went out to check my camera's after the storm last night and found him wandering the woods. He was naked, and as you can see by his hands and feet, I'd wager he'd been that way for a while. He was clearly disoriented and cold and so I brought him here."

"Now that you're feeling a little warmer, are you remembering anything else. Hypothermia can really impede mental function. Do you have a last name Cougar. Is Cougar a nickname?"

"I am not so cold." Cougar agrees, "I am called Cougar." Cougar pauses. "There was a thunderstorm, I sought shelter in the cave. Then I found Jensen." It is enough of the truth, Cougar knows that they would not accept, _I am called Mountain Lion and Puma also._

“Alright,” The doctor nods. Well, we’ll check your vitals, hypothermia is nothing to mess with." The doctor holds out his hand waiting patiently until Cougar places his own palm there. The doctor wraps a blue bandage around his arm and then compresses it until the awkward feeling almost makes Cougar flinch away. He holds himself perfectly still. The machine attached to the cuff blinks, it's red lights reading out numbers Cougar doesn't understand.

"Well, that looks good," The doctor observes. "You're clearly very fit, nothing to worry about there. Let's take your temperature." Each procedure seems to be odder than the next; poking and proding, bits of cool plastic in his ears and bright lights in his eyes as he looks fixedly beyond the doctor's shoulder. When he's finally left to blink and shift and collect himself the doctor seems satisified.

"Well, you're maybe a little dehydrated, but as long as you drink a few glasses of water it's nothing we need to see to here, certainly not enough to require an IV. I'll proscribe some antibiotic ointment for your feet. We'll put some on before you leave, in case you don't have a chance to pick it up today. Some of the cuts are deep, but none enough to warrant stitches. Try not to walk long distances, and stay off your feet if you can. We'll bandage you up for now, I expect you don't have shoes?" Jensen nods and the doctor opens a drawer to pull out a tube of cold gel which he slathers without further warning upon the soles of Cougar's feet. It stings a little but the cool is also soothing where his feet are hot and aching. The doctor carefully wraps gauze around Cougar's feet until they are white and soft instead of the punctured, crusted and faintly bleeding skin. “Otherwise,” The doctor continues, “Physically you seem to be doing fine. I wouldn't suggest weather a storm outdoors naked again, but you're healthy. The only worrying thing is the lack of memory. We'll have to file a report and see if you match up to any missing persons, but there's no reason for us to keep you here if you have somewhere else you can go?" The doctor looks first to Cougar and then to Jensen. Cougar has the feeling the doctor is hoping he'll go elsewhere, that they won't have to find him a place to stay. Jensen shrugs with a genial smile,

"I can take him. Finder's keepers right?" He jokes, "I've got an extra bedroom anyway and you have my contact information, if you find anything we should be easy enough to get a hold of."

The doctor sighs, "Excellent," turning back to Cougar, "if you remember anything do let us know. The state should pick up your bill as you have no information," The doctor frowns as he says this, shuffling through papers on his clipboard, "I think that's really it." He steps back from Cougar and towards the door. "You can keep the scrubs, better you not leave naked." He quirks a slight smile and nods once more to Jensen before stepping out of the room. Cougar looks down at the baggy blue cloth and gathers the wool blanket he set aside for the doctor's prodding and listening to his lungs. With the blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders he slides off the crinkly-papered bed and follows Jensen out of the hospital.

 

The ride to Jensen's home is mostly silent. Cougar watches the metal beasts slide by in the other direction and the changing bright colors of red, yellow, and green that seem to inform the beasts movement. He sees a billboard that has one of the metal beasts and the word Nissan. Cougar reads all of the signs voraciously as they pass, occasionally craning his neck if they're moving too quickly. Nissan is not descriptive enough for the metal beasts, Cougar feels, though he adds the new adjustement to his vocabulary. He still catches Jensen sneaking glances over at him whenever the shinging lights are red and their Nissan idles. Cougar finds it interesting how the words of things he knows are there. The words for his forrest and the words for the small animals and the words to describe the hikers, but for the things he doesn't know there is a space in his mind of newness that fills in as quickly as the new information is shared. Like there is a blank space waiting to be filled and each piece of knowledge makes it clearer. The words he knows are more imprecise perhaps, filtered through the lens of his other self but Cougar still knows them.

Cougar wonders about the silence, about Jensen's darting glances. There is an undercurrent of tension in the air of the Nissan like Jensen wants to say something, but isn't. Cougar decides to outwait him, like with the small animals in their burrows. He can stay crouched longer, just out of view, waiting for his moment. Jensen will not be able to hold his tongue forever. Cougar settles back against the seat, thankful for his new clothes, the warmth of the blanket, and the heat that seems to come from the small openings in front of him.

 

They pull up to a tall building, like the other human dwellings, but larger in size and with more doors. Cougar follows Jensen up the stairs to a particular door, which Jensen opens. Cougar allows himself to be ushered inside first.  His feet sink into the pile of the carpet, like thick moss might feel under his paws, muffled and comfortable. The space is cluttered, parts of the magical black boxes and other bits of shiny metal in various states of deconstruction littered over most available surfaces, piles of clean dishes stacked next to the sink but not yet put away, and others of the same warm blanket that Cougar has wrapped around himself are tossed over various pieces of furniture. 

"Make yourself at home," Jensen says, gesturing around the space. Cougar picks his way to the tall wing-backed chair and pulls the second blanket around himself. His feet tuck up underneath him and he watches Jensen carefully from his perch. Jensen doesn't bother tracking Cougar's movement, instead clearing detritus from the table, stacking papers haphazardly and gently placing the black boxes aside. "Do you like cameras?" Jensen asks, not looking up from where is fingers are reassembling one. Cougar shrugs.

"They capture the world." Cougar says. Jensen does look up at that. His smile is wide and he nods enthusiastically.

"I know right?" He agrees happily. "So, I imagine you're hungry? Once I've got all of this stuff put away we can eat." He tilts his head back to the table. "What do you want?" 

Cougar shrugs again, "Food." Jensen laughs,

"Well, you're easy, food I can do. How about macncheese, that's fast." When all of his camera's are safely set aside, Jensen turns into the alcove of the kitchen, set aside by the line of countertop and sleek white flooring. Cougar can watches Jensen's shoulders as he works. The stretch of his limbs as he reaches for a pot on a high shelf makes Cougar consider the flex of muscle in his own body. Human bodies aren't as powerful as his pervious form, but there is still something about that musculature that holds Cougar's thoughts. He considers this, wrapped in his blankets in the strange new space of Jensen's home. 

 

The meal is indeed ready quickly. Cougar finds it unobjectionable, if bland. The bright orange color is startling, but Jensen seems unperturbed and Cougar follows his lead, stuffing forkful after forkful into his own mouth. Having eaten, he does feel better. A stability sits in his bones and makes his feet more sure when he stands. They still ache with the scratches and the pain of his own weight but he finds that when he moves, some of his previous grace flows in his movement. Jensen watches Cougar prowl across the room to inspect the bookshelves as Jensen washes the bowls. Cougar chooses to keep the blanket from the car with him and Jensen stares at it a moment before saying,

"You want some actual clothing?" Cougar flicks his glance over from where he was inspecting the words, tracing the spine of each book on eye level with an idle finger.

"I do." Cougar nods. Jensen sets down his dishtowel and disappears down the hallway leading away from the kitchen. When he returns he has an armful of cloth.

"They might be a little big, but they'll be better than those scrubs. You don't need help right?" Cougar shakes his head and follows Jensen's directions to the bathroom to change. The room has the same sleek flooring as the kitchen rather than the softer corridor. The lights are bright and Cougar spends several minutes looking at his own reflection in the green wool blanket and loosely draping blue shirt before he sets all of that aside. His body, upon inspection, is eminently human. His frame is leaner than Jensen's given to angles and corded muscle rather than Jensen's bolder definition. Cougar turns from side to side, inspecting his own shoulders, the flex of his back. Human's have far less fur and by the time he's reached inspection of his kneecaps, the hairs on his arm are prickled like they were when he was running down the mountainside this morning. Cougar doesn't like the cold. He wriggles his toes and sets aside a more detailed exploration for later and instead hurries into the clothes Jensen gave him. They're soft and worn, though they smell of soap and  not of Jensen himself. The shirt is a little big and the pants hang low on the jut of Cougar's hipbones but they're comfortable in a way the stiff fabric of the scrubs with its gaping neck and over-long pants were not. Cougar rolls the pants up with two turns of the cuff so they just brush the tops of his feet. Feeling more comfortable in his own skin, he turns back to the mirror. He runs his fingers over the hair on his chin and searches for something of his former self in his own eyes. There should be some way to see it, he can't believe it's completely gone. And yes, if Cougar stares closely enough, there is that same stillness; the quiet predatory gaze that held his entire mountain as his dominion. Cougar lets out a breath. He takes a moment to fold the scrubs back the way he received them. With the new clothes on and the old bundled in his arms, Cougar steps back out. 

 

Jensen is tinkering in the living room. Having cleared the table of food the camera's have migrated back and Cougar finds him bent over one, humming under his breath as he works. 

"Is this alright?" Cougar asks. Jensen looks up and pauses in his work.

"Oh, uh, yeah. You look great." Cougar tracks the movement of his throat with a curious eye. Somehow Jensen seems more off balance than before. 

"Well, I don't really have a guest room, but I'll take the couch. You've had a pretty hard day and it's getting late. You could crash if you want?" Jensen offers, "Tomorrow we can see if we can find out who you are. Probably want to be well rested for that." Cougar allows himself to be ushered off to the other door off the hallway from the kitchen. It's across from the bathroom and when Jensen opens it reveals a small space with a large bed, a dresser and a closet. The blankets are rumpled and the bed bounces when Cougar sits down on it. 

"Oh, shit. I didn't change-" Jensen starts, but Cougar's already slid himself under the covers, pulling the blankets up to his chin and turning his back on Jensen. Jensen cuts himself off with a mutter Cougar's ears are too human to catch. The light clicks off. Cougar sighs into the dark when the doors closed. The room is cozy and the pillow smells like Jensen's hair and Cougar is very tired. It's not very long before he's completely asleep. 

 

Cougar stretches before he blinks open his eyes. Where he's resting is very soft indeed and he never sleeps under things. The push of weight against his arms brings his eyes open. His hands are before him, vague shapes in the dark of the room, but enough to bring the flashing reminder of his humanity. Each finger stretches to splay out against the air above him, the ceiling above that. Cougar is in Jensen's home. He is in Jensen's bed. The thought sparks warmly in his mind and Cougar turns over and burrows his face into the blankets with a happy sigh. The house is still quiet, and it's dark enough that Cougar drifts back off to sleep. 

 

Gentle tapping on the door to Jensen's room wakes Cougar. He makes an annoyed noise and the door swings open. 

"Hey," Jensen pokes his head in, "You're still in bed." He observes. Cougar glares out of his blanket nest but Jensen's smiling at him and he doesn't manage to maintain the expression. 

"What?" asks Cougar tentatively. 

"Well, I figured we'd report in and see what kind of information we could find. I've never done this missing person thing before." Cougar huffs, but he does push the blankets away. He's still in the clothes that Jensen had leant him yesterday. He stands and stretches and though the pants threaten to slide down even lower they seem fine. 

"If we're going out you'll have to borrow a jacket. Or maybe a sweatshirt." Jensen says, his eyes on the closet. He grabs something to toss in Cougar's general direction. The fabric is a navy blue and thicker than anything else he's wearing. Cougar slides it on and wraps his arms around himself. It's comfortable. 

"Wow, you're almost smiling." Jensen comments and Cougar snaps his eyes up at him.

"I do not like the cold." Cougar states.

"You'll love wool socks then." Jensen offers and Cougar raises an eyebrow in inquiry. Jensen pulls what Cougar assumes must be wool socks from his dresser. "We need to check your feet first. Might need more antibiotic cream." Jensen says. Cougar follows him back out to the living room and sits patiently while Jensen spreads more cream over his feet. Cougar does not offer to do it himself, though having had it done once before he very easily could. Jensen's hands are gentle, steady and careful in their work. Somehow Cougar's sore feet feel better just at his touch. Sleeping has also done wonders. When he's rewrapped and has slid wool socks on over top, Cougar's walk to the table is much easier than it had been the day before. Breakfast is cereal and milk. Jensen offers him the brightly colored pages of newspaper he calls "the funnies" Cougar doesn't find them particularly amusing, though he suspects that may have to do with a lack of human cultural understanding. Jensen seems to find them worth smiling over. Jensen smiles at a lot of things. He smiles at Cougar over his cereal and makes comments about the predicted weather listed in the paper and his project on Cougar's hill and Cougar can feel his own face softening in response. It isn't a smile, but that's because his heart is beating a little too fast for that. Cougar ducks his head down and hidden behind his hair, takes another bite of cereal. 

The National Missing and Unidentified Persons System registry has no listing of any missing persons fitting Cougar's description. Cougar is unsurprised by this and Jensen doesn't seem particularly disappointed. 

"We're going to go into the police station and they're going to get your statement and a picture and description to add you to the Unidentified Persons list in case anyone who knows you wants to claim you. That's a little weird isn't it, it's like listings of lost pets, this one can 'can read, write and has the intelligence of an adult, is well spoken and polite' Are you litter box trained?" Jensen asks, glancing up from the paper to look at Cougar. Cougar raises an eyebrow in response, "Yeah, I don't really want to go talk to the police either. How about we play hooky today. It's not like we said when we'd come in. They don't know, maybe you slept all day and if we go in in the evening who's to know better. Hey, then I can take you out to dinner. If you don't remember anything, you don't remember chinese food." Jensen claps his hands together, "there is this awesome restaurant in the international district, you are going to love it." Cougar doesn't deign to comment but he tilts his head in agreement to Jensen's enthusiasm. 

 

Instead of going to the police station, Jensen takes Cougar to the local art gallery. "You know I'm a photographer, theoretically an appreciation for art comes with the territory. Maybe looking at some of this will jog your memory, you know, art is supposed to stimulate the mind, maybe you'll remember one of portraits of George Washington from your middle school history class, who knows what might remind you of who you really are." Again Cougar stays silent. He still remembers who he is, but the more and more he knows about these humans, and the more he knows about Jensen in specific the more reticent he feels to sharing the truth. Cougar doesn't know if Jensen would balk or refuse to believe him, but he doesn't want to find out. And if Jensen did believe him, if his cheerful open expression fell and the fondness in his eyes grew shuttered, Cougar doesn't want to think about what that would me. Cougar would be stranded in the human world, and for what. No, this is a better alternative, following Jensen around the art gallery, taking in his hissed whispers and occassionally snide commentary on modern art instilations like the two pieces of wood one stacked on the other, cordoned off from the rest of the room and designated as art by the thin gray taped box around them. Cougar might almost have tripped over them, so focused on watching and listening to Jensen. Jensen's break into sudden snickering was enough of a warning. Cougar glares at the offending art blocks. 

"Photography is a real art form," Jensen says, and takes Cougar's elbow to tow him into an adjacent exhibit. The white walls of the room hold large black and white photographs. They show tall buildings and people, birds in flight their wings blurred into the steam from city sewers and the curving hood of a taxicab frozen into an abstracted shape, overlayering the face behind the window peering out, as if in awe at all the paytrons of the museum taking this moment out of their day to watch her pass by. 

"Maybe," Cougar says, his voice hushed, "your work will be in here some day." Jensen shrugs. There's silence as they look over the photos, so much so that Cougar has stopped waiting for any response and is startled when Jensen finally says, "Thanks." 

 

After a walk through a park where Cougar watches human children climb over the metal structures of what Jensen calls a jungle gym, "They should really make those for adults, I mean why don't we have our own play spaces, I'd kill for a set of monkey bars I didn't haven to bend my legs to swing on. It'd count as excercise, it's a totally untapped market, Cougar," they finally come to the steps of the police station. Jensen squares his shoulders and gives Cougar a supportive little smile. Cougar doesn't return the expression. Inside the tile floor is very white. They wind their way through the queue to talk with a woman with curly hair and a fixedly pleasant smile. Jensen explains Cougar's situation while Cougar continues to observe the room and doesn't look the woman in the eye. She nods along and pulls up some sort of record from her computer. 

"Yes, we were expecting you in today. We'll need to get a picture for our files, and we'll take your statement and then we'll need to interview-" her eyes flick back to the computer, "Cougar. We'll have someone free in 15 minutes. You can wait here, or there's a nice coffee shop just around the corner." 

"Thanks, that sounds like a great idea." Jensen says. Cougar leads the way out of the police station in quick strides, but he does wait on the sidewalk outside for Jensen. The coffee shop reminds Cougar that he hasn't eaten since his late breakfast. Jensen seems to be thinking similarly because he says, "I don't know how long this interview will take, but I think it probably won't be short. That means a late dinner. Maybe we should eat something now?" He gestures towards the glass counter under which are sandwhiches and plastic dishes of cut fruit and pre-made yogurt parfaits. Cougar nods and flicks his fingers through the stacks of sandwhiches, absently reading their labels. He settles on a tuna sandwhich. The plastic container creaks awkwardly under his fingers as he joins Jensen standing in the short line. They eat seated in the two large leather chairs bookending a low wooden table. Jensen inhales his food with an enthusiasm that leaves mayonaise clinging to his lips. Cougar is thorough and meticulous about his sandwich though it takes him a few minutes longer to finish. Cougar stares at Jensen's upper lip.

"You have," he waves a finger at his own face. Jensen pulls a frown and grabs one of the brown paper napkins from the haphazard pile on the table. Once made presentable, neither of them immediately rises. Instead, Cougar watches Jensen watch him. Behind them the steamers hiss and a barista calls out someone's drink order, and eventually Jensen blinks breaking the staring contest. 

"We should go back to the station." he says jerking his head towards the door, "they'll probably be ready for us now."

 

The interview is very short because Cougar doesn't have much to tell them. They ask him about his childhood and any places or people he remembers. Cougar answers as honestly as he can, describing his mountains and that he remembers from being very young. The woman interviewing him nods and takes some notes. When they seem to grow frustrated at his lack of clear answers and it becomes obvious he can't give them any more of what they want, they take his picture. 

"We'll add this to the unditified persons database. If anyone recognizes you, or you match the description of any missing person we'll be in contact. This isn't unheard of, but it's a pretty rare occurrence. The main problem will be your social security number, for now you have a place to live, right?" Cougar nods and the woman smiles back reassuringly, "We're going to do our best to help you. In the mean time, if you remember anything, no matter how small, let us know as soon as you can. We'll be in touch." She gives Cougar her business card, and hands another to Jensen. Cougar is lead away to stand in front of a white wall turning this way and that and awkwardly showing his teeth at the man operating the camera's command to "smile". When he turns he can see that the woman who interviewed him has taken Jensen aside for a hushed conversation. Cougar's human ears aren't astute enough to pick up the sound but he watches Jensen's solemn nod and his worried expression. Cougar feels bad that his transformation has caused so many problems, but even as he curls his fingers imagining his claws in their place, the feel of fur rippling over his skin, he cannot make himself want to change back. 

 

That night Cougar drapes himself on the couch next to Jensen and tries not to be too bored with the brightly colored images on the television and it's uproarious sounds of laughter. The jokes are still to specific, to involved in events of the human world for which Cougar has no context. Jensen laughs though, the sound hiccuping and soft like he's trying to hold it back. He glances over at Cougar,

"You're not getting any of this are you?" Cougar shrugs. "Yeah I suppose you wouldn't know anything about the current political climate, should I change the channel?"

"You're laughing," Cougar points out, "I do not mind." Jensen holds his gaze for another long moment before he quirks a smile and turns back to the television. Cougar tilts his head back to rest along the back of the sofa, slumping further down. He props his feet up to join Jensen's on the coffee table. Wrapped in the afghan and slightly unbalanced his shoulder bumps against Jensen's. Jensen doesn't move away. His hand, which was loosely balanced along the back of the couch, moves to scritch against Cougar's hair. Cougar closes his eyes to the bright colors of the television and doesn't lean into the touch. 

"You're just a giant cat." Jensen comments. "Cougar, kitty." Cougar slits his eyes open to glare at Jensen but the touch is soothing and he's suddenly tired, the weight of the day crashing back in on him now that he's safe and warm in the flickering artificial light from the TV screen. Cougar huffs a noise of protest, but closes his eyes again and doesn't move away. 

 

For the second time Cougar wakes up in what he is now considering his own bed. The last thing he remembers was the repetitive motion of Jensen's hand petting through his hair and the sound of quiet laughter.  He blinks open his eyes sleepily and stretches in the comfort of the warm blankets. It's the part of his mind that says "I could get used to this," that makes the decision for Cougar. He has to let Jensen know who he is. He cannot keep relying on Jensen's generosity. For all of the man's smiles and welcome, Cougar can't continue imposing or the charade where he pretends the first moment he laid eyes on Jensen was after the storm. With his mind made up Cougar levers himself out of bed. 

He finds Jensen easily enough, but somehow the morning passes without Cougar finding the opportunity to share the words he's holding on the tip of his tongue. The time just never feels right. Jensen is too excited about something or too distracted with his cameras. Cougar is enjoying his company too much to mention it, to end the moment of the midmorning stretching into comfortable afternoon. It's only when Jensen says, 

"Isn't it awesome to have a day in. I just don't want to go back to work tomorrow." That Cougar is jarred out of his thoughts. "I have to go replace all the cameras." Jensen says at Cougar's sharp look. "I'm now behind on this project so I'll probably put out one or two more. I guess I can just have you stay here?" 

Cougar shakes his head vehemently, "No."

"You want to come with me? I mean, isn't that like revisiting a place of trauma?"

Cougar shrugs, "maybe it will jog my memory." he says calmly. Cougar decides then that tomorrow, tomorrow he will show Jensen his mountain, all the places he's lived and knows and will always be a part of him, then maybe he will have the right words to tell Jensen the truth. 

 

The drive up is silent. Cougar stares out the window of the car at the blur of greenery and doesn't speak. Jensen hums along to the radio and sometimes shoots worried looks over at Cougar, but he doesn't ask anything. They pull into the gravel parking lot at the trail head and Cougar helps Jensen unload his equpiment. Cougar takes care with the fragile camera, cradeling the metal pieces in his hands with reverence. He still remembers the images of himself they trapped, the way the highlighted his face and turned his feline form into a thing of animal beauty. Cougar wonders if Jensen took a picture of him now, what would he see. He doesn't ask, but follows jensen up the trail, still maintaining his slience.

It's strange being back in the familiar expanse of his woods. He can hear rustlings in the undground but he can't smelll the small creatures he knows are there. His own skin smells human and his feet crunch along the path in the heavy boots that humans wear. He isn't one of them any more. And yet, at the same time, he isn't human either. Walking up the path he feels stretched between them with the light breeze playing along his back, and the shade of the trees from the sunshine over head. Cougar knows all these things on his fur and his skin brstiles in recognintion. He wants to run, but his booted feet would just weigh him down.

Jensen starst to talk as the hike. His breathes huff words step after step, about his projects and the quality of the light under the trees. He points out plants that are edible and plants whose flowers he likes, when they bloom in the early summer. Eventually, Cougar allows himself to be drawn into the stream of chatter, allowing Jensen to know his own secrets. He tells Jensen about the exact shade of dapled green that the forest turns the treeline by his sunning rock. He shares the intimate details of the curves of the creek that runs down to the lake below. Cougar knows these things from experience, from living, and he's sure his voice is embued with that knowledge. For a man with no memories, he knows too much, but Jensen doesn't comment. Instead he falls quiet and allows Cougars sparse words to be the companion to their upward climb. 

 

Cougar follows Jense when he diverts from his path. They reach the first camera and Jensen checks it over. There are, of course, no new pictures of the mountain lion. They go further and Jensen sets up a new picture location, taking the camera from Cougar's hands and efficiently placing it where he wants it. Cougar watches Jensen's assured movements, the way he checks the light and considers the space. They continue, upwards and upwards till they're getting towards where Jensen saw Cougar first. They break from the treeline like they've come full circle. 

"Let me" Cougar says, when Jensen looks ready to climb along the rock for his camera. Even if Cougar is now human, this is still his territory, he knows he will not fall. The camera takes some fiddling to unhook, because Cougar doesn't know the equipment well. Jensen stands, hovering just down the slope, worry in his eyes the whole time, but he doesn't call out, just waits on Cougar patiently. When Cougar lopes down the slope towards him, he watches with a strange expression. Cougar stops, feet away, and holds out the camera.

"Take a picture of me." he commands. Jensen's fingers fumble on the camera for a moment, his eyes not breaking Cougar's gaze.

"Alright," he says and the lens comes between them. The snap and whir of the shutter is loud in the sudden silence. Cougar remains still, like waiting to spring on something small and furred in the under brush the pitter pat of it's heart beat loud in his ears. This time the heart beat is Cougar's own. He can hear Jensen's intake of breath over the rush of sound. His hands flick over the camera, checking, re-checking. Cougar doesn't ask what image is shown on the tiny magical screen. 

"You're-" Jensen says, "no, you can't be." Cougar shrugs, one shoulder lifting.

"I am Cougar." Cougar states, and the words are still true. Maybe their meaning has shifted, from a name given to an animal, a descriptor, impersonal but representative of the tawny color of fur, the yellow moon of eyes and the sharp flex of claws, into what is instead the name of a man, a personal name.

"Cougar." Jensen breathes again, voice hushed with wonder, "but how?" Cougar looks back towards his rock.

"I think, because of you." Cougar turns his eyes back to Jensen, searching his open face, "I wanted to be a man." Jensen is strangely without words. Cougar hasn't known him long, but in all the time they've spent together, Jensen's never been speechless.

"Because-" Jensen starts, and because Cougar doesn't have an answer. Because he still doesn't know how to explain, or what human words to even use, he takes the two swift steps to close the space between them and kisses Jensen. The kiss is fast and sweet, the hot flash of lightening between them tingling Cougar's lips and then gone. Cougar steps back. He feels it then in his fingers and his toes, a subtle curling, and he knows what he has to say.

"I love you." Cougar states, because it's true. It was true from the very start. "But if you want me to stay, you have to say it." He holds out a hand, and it's already curved down the fingers tightened into the black pads of his paws. He keeps his gaze calm and steady on Jensen's face and waits for the answer. 


End file.
